


running on empty

by civillove



Series: plans wrapped in rubber bands [8]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Soft Rio (Good Girls)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 13:48:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18740305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civillove/pseuds/civillove
Summary: Prompt from anon on tumblr: Sick Beth, you decide context.--“What’s goin’ on with you today?”When she opens up her eyes and looks in his direction, his forearms are leaning against the hood of the car, gaze intent on her, like he’s trying to peel her skin back and answer his own question.“Why do you keep asking me that? I told you I’m fine.”Rio clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth and gestures to her chest. “For starters, your shirt’s inside out.”





	running on empty

**Author's Note:**

> Ignores 2x10, so if you have to set an episode let’s do 2x09 but follows the majority of my series.

She’s been feeling off for days but she just attributes that to trying to get back into the swing of things; the busy schedules, the bake sales, the meetings, _actual_ book club where she has to read and take notes, not to mention grocery shopping and running an actual dealership where real sales keep the place afloat. Needless to say, she knows she’s been running herself a little ragged—but what else is she to do?

Beth refuses to give up any parts of herself (at least, not parts that cost her family in the process) which means she’s tired.

It’s not just the lack of sleep, it’s not that kind of tired, it’s a _bone_ deep weary that makes her feel like there’s weights attached to her limbs, pulling her under water to the darkest part of the ocean. It’s a sacrifice, a cost, that makes sense though—doesn’t it?

Staying busy is what keeps her treading water, even with weights chained on. If she stops—

She shakes her head, pushing a few curls behind her ears and letting out a slow breath as she reads over another line in her cookbook for maybe the fourth time. She’s not going to allow herself to go there.

She can do this.

At least, that’s what she tells herself for exactly twenty days before she feels her chest buckle underneath the immense pressure of trying to keep herself afloat. It’s something small that breaks her but she can’t remember what it is now that she’s thinking about it.

Was it Dean saying something condescending? A loan being denied? A credit card being rejected at the grocery store? PTA moms reminding her of pigeons that are slowly plucking her eyes out?

Or was it something worse?

Beth dreams about him sometimes—his lips on her skin, his hands brushing hair off her forehead or settling on her hips, his voice wrapping around her like personified warmth, drawing her in, the darkness safe and inviting.

She knows it’s wrong and she knows she’s risking _everything_ all over again but, perhaps, this is what addiction feels like. Not being able to stop, not being able to say no. She’d never assume to understand something she’s never struggled with but…as many times as she’s pulled away? she always finds herself coming back.

Beth leans against her kitchen counter, letting out a slow breath as she closes the cookbook. She can’t do this today; a headache beginning to swell at the back of her head. She’s not even sure why she’s attempting to cook herself dinner, the kids are at various obligations and she’s managed to convince Dean that she’s doing some work at the dealership tonight—even though she knows that excuse won’t work for very long.

Rio left her an opening to come back and she wonders if he knew it wouldn’t take her very long. She thought she knew what she was giving up and she hates that she ever missed it; the danger, the thrill of living on the edge with only a string tying her back, tying her to one person. But really, she misses something she never thought she needed—being in control to provide for her family, for the people she loves the most.

Isn’t that what being a mother is all about anyways?

So she starts off slow; a few jobs here and there, the risk low. She washes cash, she turns a profit, she doesn’t move cars for a while until Rio asks. And then she does that too, all over again. It’s not as obvious and she doesn’t see him as much because she doesn’t want Dean to catch on. She brings the money in slowly, almost too slow that it pulls on the edges of her sanity—because she _has_ it all wrapped in green rubber bands, ready to solve their problems, to comfort them but she can’t use it all at once.

It has to seem legit, organic, or her entire life will erupt into flames again.

And Beth won’t be able to go through that twice.

She puts the cookbook away and takes off her apron, pausing a moment to press her fingers against her temples. When she manages to look at the time she realizes she’s running late and rushes upstairs to change into a simple pair of dark jeans with a black t-shirt before jumping into flats near the front door.

He’s waiting for her in the driveway, sleek black car reflecting the light almost too perfectly and she winces as she pulls the car door open to slide inside.

“I know.”

Rio opens his mouth only to shut it, a soft smile tugging at the ends of his mouth as he leans back into the seat. “I wasn’t gonna say anythin’.”

Beth rolls her eyes as she puts her seatbelt on because she _knows_ she’s late but doesn’t want to hear about it. She glances at him, his one hand on the steering wheel as the other sits loosely in his lap. He has dark jeans on that almost match the tone of her own, a long black sleeved t-shirt that disappointingly hides the rest of his tattoos while the bird on his neck looks like it has soft gray feathers today.

He’s watching her, eyes trailing over a moment as if he’s drinking her in. She shudders under the scrutiny but bites her tongue on saying anything because she doesn’t want him to stop. He’s chewing on a thought, glancing outside the passenger window before he says,

“You alright?”

That’s…not what she thought was going to come out of his mouth. “I’m fine.”

“You’re flushed.” And he offers a smirk that makes her want to hit him. “What were you doin’ in there before you got into this car?”

Beth decides right there and then that he’s the worst as a slow heat creeps along the back of her neck from the accusation lying in his tone. She thinks about the last time she saw him, the way her desk had dug into her back, his hands moving along her body, tearing her underwear off. She thinks about the last time they were in this car together, in his backseat, her hips rolling against his own as his thumbs bruised her hipbones.

Her skin misses his but she’s not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Are we actually going somewhere or are you just going to run your engine in my driveway?”

Rio smiles, slow and too amused before nodding his head. He kicks the gear from parked into drive and pulls down the street, leaning further back against the leather as he makes a turn at a stop sign.

She swallows and rubs the back of her neck, trying to get the blush to disappear as he drives. That headache she should have taken something for is starting to move from the back of her head towards the front, settling behind her eyes, and it takes her a moment to realize Rio has said something to her because she just blinks at him.

“What?”

He stares at her a moment at a red flight, a frown tugging down his lips as he considers asking her something but then decides against it. “I said, you’re quiet today.”

“Are you complaining?” She presses and she watches him actually think about it before responding.

“Nah, just wonderin’ when the other shoe is gonna drop.”

Beth lets out a short breath, crossing her arms over her chest. “Speaking of, is that what we’re going to? A drop?”

Rio hums but doesn’t respond to her, instead the light changes and he presses his foot on the gas. There’s almost comfort in this pattern that they fall into; where he tells her nothing, she asks, he continues to evade and then she falls right into his plan.

“Is that a no?”

“Spoke too soon.” He mumbles under his breath and turns the car into a parking lot.

Beth recognizes this part of downtown, mostly empty warehouses that used to produce cars but have been long shutdown. The rust bucket in front of them is a towering mess of green rust and metal, hovering over the car with a shadow that nearly makes her shiver. She runs a hand over her arm and chews on the inside of her lower lip. They can only be here for one thing.

“New site for making the fake bills?”

Rio turns the engine off and pockets his car keys. “Thinkin’ about it. We’re gonna meet some people today who might be interested in assisting our business endeavors.” The way his tongue rolls around the language dips deep into her belly and this time she does shiver, squeezing her one arm as goosebumps gather there.

He clocks the reaction and reaches behind the seat for something and suddenly his black-wash jean jacket is on her lap. Beth stares at it a moment before looking up at him as if he’s put a stick of dynamite on her legs. She wants it terribly; to wrap the fabric around her shoulders and breathe him in and let his scent soothe the headache that’s threatening to take over.

But it’s a slippery slope, wearing his clothes, and she knows that.

“What?”

“I’m not putting this on.” She hands it back to him.

Rio scoffs and throws it over the seat, nearly rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Suit yourself.”

Beth runs a hand over her forehead, pausing for a moment to let out a slow breath. “How long is this going to take?”

“Why? You gotta dance recital I don’t know about?” Frustration pops along his vowels, “Maybe some gluten free cupcakes you gotta bake?” She hates the indifference in his tone and wants to argue that _those_ things are important to her too, regardless if he thinks they’re not.

She should be happy he’s giving things to her that she wants, to be included, to be involved, but for some reason she’s not—because right now she feels like garbage run through a rinse cycle twice and wants nothing more than to lie down. Just for a few minutes to get her head on straight.

But she can’t say that, so instead, “I’ll remember that next time you show up in my kitchen trying to shove my cookies in your mouth.”

Rio smirks and she puts her hand up before he can say something absolutely _dirty_ and opens the car door to get out. She wishes almost immediately that she’d taken his jacket as wind whips around the empty parking lot, sinking through her shirt and kissing her skin. She licks her lips and closes the car door, swaying on her feet a moment as a wave of dizziness descends upon her.

“What’s goin’ on with you today?”

When she opens up her eyes and looks in his direction, his forearms are leaning against the hood of the car, gaze intent on her, like he’s trying to peel her skin back and answer his own question.

“Why do you keep asking me that? I told you I’m fine.”

Rio clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth and gestures to her chest. “For starters, your shirt’s inside out.”

A soft groan leaves her lips as she looks down at herself and _of course_ he’s right, the seams that belong on the inside staring at her like ugly stiches. Her hands play with the bottom of her shirt as she decides what she should do, because the last thing she wants is to actually fix it. Do gangbangers or drug dealers or whoever the hell they’re about to meet actually _care_ that her shirt is on inside out?

“You wanna fix it right here or?” There’s a smile to his voice, teasing in way that makes her stomach flutter. “I’ll close my eyes.”

She snorts and just opens up the car door to slip inside, making quick work of fixing her shirt before stepping back out. She lets out a definitive breath and fixes him with a look that just makes his smile more amused.

“Like I said, I’m fine.”  

“Whatever you say, mami.” And motions to the front of the warehouse, “After you.”

Beth doesn’t exactly walk fast but she does take her best foot forward in walking towards the entrance. All she has to do is get through this meeting and go home, eat a proper meal, take a bath and sleep—once she actually gets some rest she’ll feel like herself again and not so easily flustered.

There’s a sliding door separating the parking lot and the inside of the warehouse and the handle is cold and heavy in her grip. She struggles getting it open and after a moment a warm hand settles on her lower back as Rio reaches over her and tugs. The door screeches as wheels turn and metal slides and he guides her inside, still letting her lead but motioning her to where they’re going.

The warehouse is a damp cold, wrapping around her in a firm grip as she looks around the open space. It’s large, perfect for what they need to do, and her eyes settle on a set of stairs at the far end that lead up to an office. There are shadows there, waiting, and she pauses to look behind her at Rio to confirm that’s where they’re headed.

He gives a swift nod before walking in front of her, towards the steps, ascending them quickly and not waiting for her. Beth puts her hand on the railing, her eyes walking the steps for her because that same bone tiredness almost engulfs her. Her feet sway again and she grips the metal so she doesn’t fall, closing her eyes a moment because that seems to help.

“Elizabeth.”

Beth struggles to meet his gaze, his hand on the doorknob of the office, a look between impatience and confusion dancing along his features. He opens his mouth to say something but doesn’t and instead walks back down the steps to meet her in the middle.

“Look at me.”

He doesn’t wait and instead grabs her chin, rough, and forces her gaze to meet his own. Beth lets out an indignant noise at his touch but his eyes cut off anything she’s about to say. It’s cold, serious, and he waits a moment for the gravity of their situation to sink in before he talks. She can feel his barely contained frustration rolling off his shoulders in waves; he doesn’t have time for this hand holding and yet here he is, doing it.

“This is me includin’ you, 50/50. If you can’t do this, I need you to take your ass to the car.”

Beth pushes his hand off her, that familiar fire in her belly washing away the fog that’s slowing her down. “If you’re done second guessing me, we have a client waiting.”

She walks past him, her shoulder brushing his as she climbs the steps. He only hesitates for a moment before following her, her hand falling to the doorknob before turning it open. A breath tumbles out of her mouth as she’s greeted with gazes from two men, one big and burly near a desk that looks like it’s two seconds away from crumbling, and a sharp-dressed silver haired gentleman standing by a window overlooking the factory.

“Is it typical for you to do business by being late?” He asks but he’s not looking at them as he talks.

Beth licks her lips, her mouth suddenly dry and she has to think a moment longer than usual to respond. “Pressing dinner plans?”

The man in the suit turns, slowly, taking both her and Rio in before a soft smile decorates his lips. She lets out a breath that she doesn’t realize she was holding as he speaks, “Wonderful space—intent on telling me what your plans are for it?”

Rio takes a step-in front of her and she allows him to as he starts detailing the operation, mapping things out for the suit and where they need his assistance. Beth leans back, her eyes falling to the muscle near the desk again. She watches as he actually sits on the furniture and contemplates on how bad of an idea that is.

Her hand rubs along her forehead, that same headache once again bubbling from the back and pounding along her temples. Her eyes slip closed, her heartbeat echoing in her ears as a sheen of sweat gathers along the back of her neck and forehead.

She suddenly feels sick, too cramped in this room, too warm for the temperature that was making her shiver when she left Rio’s car. Beth softly clears her throat and tries to right herself, her heels digging into the floor beneath her, her arms crossing across her chest like she’s trying to hold her body together; so she doesn’t fall apart.

She needs this meeting to be over, she’s starting to feel lightheaded. She was so busy running around this afternoon that she missed lunch and now that decision seems to be haunting her; Beth needs to realize that she can’t consistently operate on low fuel and expect shining results.

When she opens her eyes, all the men’s gazes are on her and once again she’s missed a statement that Rio’s said. He’s staring at her, the muscles of his jaw tightening as he realizes she has _no_ idea what they’ve been talking about.

His eyes fall back onto the man in the suit and Beth realizes that she’s really missed something important because of how Rio is holding himself, his body slightly angled, one hand in his front pocket as the other hangs down by his side. It’s easier to grab his gun, his shoulders a little tight across like someone is pulling an arrow back in a bow.

The air in the room has shifted and she didn’t realize it.

“Like I said, it won’t be a problem—”

The man holds his hand up, eyes still on Beth. “No, I want to hear it from her.” She swallows. “The dealership is awfully public, yes?”

She has no idea how they’ve made a jump from spinning fake cash at this warehouse to her dealership; was she really drifting off for that long? She hates that for a moment she actually considers Rio’s advice about going back to the car was right but shakes it off quickly because…she can figure this out, just like anything else.

“Sometimes hiding in plain sight is the best option, wouldn’t you agree?”

The man, however, doesn’t have time to respond because Rio is stepping in-between them. His one hand falls to her wrist, his grip tight and almost too insistent.

“Enough,” He hisses, “You’re done askin’ how my partner and I do business. This meeting is over.”  

Rio isn’t gentle with pushing her towards the exit of the office and top of the steps but Beth barely makes it through the doorframe before she hears the all too familiar click of a safety being switched off.

If her head wasn’t spinning before, it certainly is _now_ as gunshots echo in the warehouse. Her headache explodes and her hand instantly goes to her forehead as she’s shoved down the stairs. Her legs move on autopilot, Rio’s hand guiding and pushing and _yanking_ her towards the parking lot. The men are yelling in their direction and Beth’s heartbeat starts slamming in her ears as she runs towards where they left the car and somehow it feels so much farther away now that she’s trying to get to it.

She feels like she has tunnel vision, the world around her blurring at the edges as she sinks down against the driver’s door, nearly sitting on the pavement as she uses the car as a shield. Rio ducks down next to her, listening, soft pants leaving his lips. Beth doesn’t hear more gunfire and the yelling has stopped and she tastes metal in her mouth as she swallows, eyes slipping closed as she thinks about Rio’s aim taking care of their problem.

Beth’s too embarrassed to ask what happened.

He stands after a moment, sliding his gun into the waistband of his jeans again. She can feel his eyes on her, watching her, waiting for her to say something but it never comes. Instead she focuses on her breathing, trying to calm her pulse by taking slow breaths in and out. Her limbs are shaking, sweat drying on the back of her neck and along her hairline from the cool air blowing through the parking lot.

“Do I even gotta fuckin’ ask what happened in there?”

Beth swallows and opens her eyes, looking up at him. She’s not even sure what to say because being tired is not an excuse he’s going to accept.

“I know,” She tries.

“No, you don’t know.” He talks over her, his breath puffing a little in the cold air.

His eyes are wild and dangerous and if this were any other conversation, she would probably find it attractive. He lets out a short breath and he runs a hand over his jawline, considering several things all at once. She’s seen him like this before, really thinking before he speaks and she wonders what he’s weighing: the fact that they could have died, that she fucked up, that the meeting was a mess, about Marcus, regretting bringing her back on, letting her go in the first place—so much, too much.

That same headache that she almost forgot about comes back full force, pinching terribly behind her eyes.

“I’ll have you know that my meetings don’t always end in gunfire, darlin’. Only meetings with _you.”_

She bites her tongue on saying he’s dramatic but then she feels a sucker punch to the gut because she sees it—she sees the disappointment swimming low in Rio’s brown eyes and all of a sudden she wants to scramble to defend herself because _no._ She’s better than this and they both know it.

“Look, I know today wasn’t my best but I haven’t been getting that much sleep—”

“Oh my bad, I didn’t realize I was interruptin’ a scheduled naptime after pilates.” And suddenly just like that, with a flip of the switch, that icy indifference is back and while she feels like she should be used to it his words still feel like frostbite. “Get your damn head on straight.”

He makes her sound so out of shape, out of the game and she doesn’t deserve that no matter what’s happened—not with everything they’ve been through.

Beth leans back against the car to stand, “Okay, I get I screwed up in there and that you’re pissed…”

She takes a step towards him and stops, her headache hitting a crescendo as a wave of dizziness crashes over top of her like a giant wave.

“B-but…” Beth feels herself stumble, her vision blurring at the edges in a fuzzy blackness and as strange as it sounds she can _feel_ all the color draining from her face.

Rio is quick to grab onto her arm to steady her, his head tilting a little to try catch her gaze with his own before he’s assessing her body for a stray bullet he’s somehow missed.

Before she can tell him once again that she’s fine, darkness yanks her and her eyes roll back into her head until she’s tumbling forward into Rio’s chest. She can feel him asking her something, talking to her, his diaphragm gently vibrating as he speaks but she can’t make it out.

And she never feels herself hitting the pavement.

\--

The first thing she notices is that her headache is still there, right on the edges, licking her nerve endings and only seeming to get worse when she tries to open her eyes. She’s not sure where the light is coming from but when it assaults her vision it feels like a thousand little pins are being pressed into her eye sockets and temples. She brings a hand up to cover her face for a few moments, opening her eyes underneath so she can better prepare herself for what’s going on around her.

Images are blurred for a few moments as she removes her hand and it takes her longer than it should to recognize a shitty hotel room.

A shitty hotel room that she knows because she’s been here before; it’s his, the one he always uses as an escape if he needs somewhere to lay low. She sees the black bag near the TV, his jean jacket on the end of the bed, a newspaper covering the top of the TV and a coffee cup on the table near the door.

All the signs that he’s been here but she doesn’t see Rio.

Beth forces her body to move, slowly pulling herself up in bed, propping pillows behind herself like it’ll somehow make her feel more comfortable. Her limbs feel heavy, too heavy and her stomach lurches uneasily at the idea that he’s tucked her into this bed with sheets that probably haven’t been truly washed in a long time. Her eyes fall to the floor—he took her shoes off and her cheeks dot with the gentlest of pinks at the domesticity of it all.

She tries to piece together what exactly happened; how she got here. She remembers the warehouse and she remembers crouching against his car…but that’s it.

Beth looks up as the door opens with the gentle sound of keys and Rio comes in, a paper bag in his hand. His gaze instantly falls on her and pauses before he comes in and closes the door. He’s changed into a zipped-up hoodie, the hood resting right on the crown of his head as he throws the keys onto the table.

He sighs and tugs the hood off, moving to sit next to her legs on the bed. “I see we’re awake.” His voice is gentle in a way she doesn’t want it to be—too easy to fall into.

“How long was I out?” Her voice is rough from lack of use.

“Few hours.” Rio sets the bag down on her legs and chews on his lower lip a moment as he watches her.

“What happened?” She swallows, curling her hair around her ear.

“You fainted, I put you in the car and brought you here.” His fingers play with the end of the bag but his gaze never leaves her own. He finally opens it up and pulls out a small container of orange juice and…and a can of chicken noodle soup.

“Don’t even look at me like that. Couldn’t find a diner that had any.”

Beth’s mouth open and closes and she realizes she’s probably resembling some sort of goldfish but she has no idea what to say to him.

He pulls the zipper down on his hoodie and shakes his head, that thin line of frustration and patience that he always treads with her pulls thin as he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feelin’ well?”

It seems like such a simple question, something that should have been _easy_ to tell him but…but honestly? She didn’t want him looking at her the way he kind of is right now: like she’s somehow weaker because this happened.

“Because our business doesn’t stop just because I forgot to eat lunch.”

He rolls his eyes and cracks open the juice, pushing it into her hand. “It stops for this. You have a fever.”

Beth scrunches her nose, almost indignant. “I do _not.”_

Rio smirks; almost can’t help it. “Cute. But you do.”

She takes a sip of juice which feels so damn delightful that she almost makes a noise of pleasure. She refuses, however, to give him that satisfaction and instead just takes another sip.

“Last time I checked, you’re not a human thermometer.”

She thinks he’s about to put his hand to her forehead but instead he just smirks and licks his lips before standing, “Okay.” He crosses the room to that black bag that seems to have everything he always needs in it and pulls out…

A fucking thermometer.

Rio taps the end of it against the outside of his hand as he turns to look at her, challenging her almost in a way that shouldn’t be so attractive and all she can do is glare as he walks back over to her.

“You gonna open your mouth for me?”

She wants to do something childish like stick her tongue out at him but somehow she feels like he’d _enjoy_ that and it’d make this worse. Instead, she sighs in a dramatic fashion and does what he’s asking so he can stick the damn thing under her tongue.

Rio stands and moves to the bathroom and Beth plays with the lid of the orange juice before shaking her head at the can of soup that’s still on her legs as she hears the sink running. When he comes back out he sits at her waist and motions for her to sit up a little. He then places a cool washcloth along the back of her neck and she shivers at the contact.

When the thermometer beeps she doesn’t need to see the number to know he’s right and his hand moves towards her mouth, “Don’t bite me.” He teases and while she’d love nothing more just to spite him, she allows him to take it out and show her the number.

101.4.

“If you say ‘I told you so’ I will throw this can of soup at you.”

“You’ll owe me 2.75 above what you usually wash for me if you do.” Rio tuts and sets the thermometer aside, watching as she takes another sip of orange juice.

He holds her gaze for a few moments before his hand brushes along her forehead, tucking hair behind her ear. The action is gentle and soothing and even though every cell in her body doesn’t want to, she closes her eyes against him, nearly inching into his touch.

“You can't run on empty, ma. I can't look after both of us when we got work to do.” But she knows it’s more than that; she can feel it in the way his thumb brushes along her jawline.

When his touch is gone her body aches for it, a soft shiver working its way down her spine as the washcloth dampens the top of her shirt. Goosebumps kiss her skin, making the hair stand up on her arms.

Rio considers her a moment, a soft smile tugging the ends of his mouth. “You know the best way to sweat out a fever right?”

Beth laughs a little, which she figures is his intention, because regardless of how he once told her that he had a great immune system she’s not about to let themselves go there when she’s sick. Regardless of how much she wants to.

“Shut up.” She takes one more sip of the orange juice before setting it on the nightstand, pinching the bridge of her nose. Rio shakes a container of Advil, setting it down next to the orange juice as if he’s offering a small apology.

He stands and takes his hoodie off, revealing a short sleeve t-shirt and…she’s not sure what he’s doing but he moves as if he might leave and Beth’s struck with how much she _doesn’t_ want that. Rio sees it, he must, because he pauses and asks her a silent question.

She swallows and waits, wants the gentle trembles that are working through her body to disappear but she knows they won’t—not until her fever is gone.

“Can you…” She trails off, motioning to the bed beside her.

Rio holds her gaze before nodding, toeing off his shoes and walking around the other side of the bed. He crawls in above the covers, leaning back against the headboard, his arm lifting to accommodate her body. It doesn’t take her more than a moment to turn against his chest, settling against him, her head slipping underneath his chin like she’s meant to be there, his hand falling to her arm and rubbing to create friction.

She breathes him in, the subtle scent of warm skin mixing with cologne and detergent, her hand resting against the heartbeat of his chest and curling his shirt between her fingers. He shifts against the bed, pulling the covers up over her, squeezing her against his body until the shaking lessens.

They’re quiet for a few moments, the only sound filling the small room is their mixed breathing.

And then: “Please don’t tell me you feed Marcus that soup in a can when he’s sick.”

“Nah,” Rio chuckles, she can feel it vibrate against her ear. “I _do_ know how to cook; it’s just not reserved for seedy motel rooms.” A yawn escapes her lips and he brushes his thumb along her shoulder. “Complain about your can of soup later, get some sleep.”

Beth hums out a response, her eyes slipping closed and she’s unsure if it’s the fever or not when she feels Rio press a kiss against her forehead before she drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading and as always, prompts are welcome at my tumblr! blainesebastian.tumblr.com/ask


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